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by mysticmajestic



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Family Reunions, Flashbacks, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Langst, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Canon, Shance Month 2018, War Injuries, shangst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-02-17 02:15:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13067034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysticmajestic/pseuds/mysticmajestic
Summary: When the war is won, Lance invites Shiro home to meet his family.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know Shance Month doesn't start until January, but I figured that since this story is gonna be long, and there's a fair amount I want to tell of it, I should start posting in December and finish it in January instead. Plus, I'm really impatient and I hate sitting on finished chapters/fics. 
> 
> I'm aiming for roughly five chapters. 
> 
>  
> 
> [Follow me on Tumblr!](http://mystic-majestic.tumblr.com/)

__

It has been nine years since he last stood outside this front door, and yet everything remains unaltered by time. The same flowers grow in the garden. The house is the same warm, sunny yellow. On the garden bench overlooking the narrow street are a bunch of towels and swimsuits, soaking wet from the beach he can still smell on the air. Everything is the same, but he is different.

Lance McClain is twenty-five and home at last. The last time he was here, he’d tearfully said goodbye to his family, sad to leave them but eager to start his first year at the Galaxy Garrison. Sometimes he struggles to comprehend that so much time has passed.

“Are you sure it’s okay that I’m here?” asked Shiro, squeezing Lance’s hand. They’re standing on the pavement outside, staring up at the house. Shiro adjusts the heavy bag on his back with a roll of his shoulders. “I don’t want to intrude.”

Smiling at him over his shoulder, Lance says, “I think we’re both intruders. Don’t throw me to the wolves now, Shiro. I think I need your support now more than ever.”

“Then you’ll have it.” Shiro brought their joined hands up, kissing Lance’s knuckles. “Let’s go.”

Pushing open the white picket gate, he leads Shiro up the narrow path and the three stone steps to the porch. Someone forgot to turn off the outside light and it’s dull and useless in the light of the eight o’clock sun. Lance remembers fondly how his mother used to fume about that.

Lance touches the brass knocker on the front door, staring at the cracks in the white paint, but he can’t bring himself to knock. The outside may have changed, but it’s the inside that worries him the most; what has changed in the internal workings of this household? How many photos will there be on the walls that he’s never seen before? Are his grandparents, who were elderly and frail before he’d left for the Garrison, still alive? What do his parents look like now? Do they have more grey hairs? How are his brothers and sisters? How are their children, are there any more of them?

He’s not ready for this.

Shiro exhales softly and reaches out, tapping the knocker loudly against the wood three times. “It’ll be okay, Lance,” he says, as a cheerful voice shouts ‘Coming!’ “I’m right here with you.”

Words evaporate from Lance’s mouth. He leans over and pecks Shiro on the corner of his lips, a gesture they both know is a ‘thank you.’

The hinges squeal as the door swings open to reveal a teenage girl, her curly black hair tied up in a messy bun. She says, “Um, how can I help you?” as she stares at them uncomprehendingly.

Lance doesn’t recognise her either. The thought scares him.

Clearing his throat, he asks, “Is Ma—is Maria there?”

People were shouting and laughing further inside the house. Lance hears the clinking of dishes and the sizzle of cooking food. There’s a scent of something on the air. Bacon? It’s been so long since he’s smelled anything like it. He’s unwittingly interrupting their breakfast, but it’s too late to leave.

The girl gives him one last searching look, then calls over her shoulder, “Nanna! Someone’s here to see you.” She shuffles back until she’s partially hidden by the door, using it like a shield. Something about Lance and Shiro must be scaring her, but Lance can’t think of what it might be. When nobody comes into the hallway after a moment, the girl rolls her eyes and shouts louder, “ _Nanna_ , there is someone for you at the door! _Come answer it_!”

“Who’d be here at this time of the morning? It’s too early!” a woman shouts. Lance’s heart constricts; _Mama_. She rounds the corner into the hallway clutching a plate of sausages. She’s only two steps in when she spots Lance, her eyes widening in shock. The plate slips through her fingers, shattering on the ground. “L-Lance?”

Panic chokes Lance. His lips move soundlessly, his mouth as dry as the air in a desert. No, no he can’t do this. It’s too soon, he hasn’t prepared enough. This isn’t—he can’t—

Shiro squeezes Lance’s hand reassuringly. He’s a solid, comforting presence by Lance’s side. Not for the first time, Lance is grateful that he’s here.

“It’s okay, Lance,” he murmurs. “Everything’s okay.”

Bolstered by the encouragement, Lance waves nervously. “H-hi, Mama.”

His voice is a hoarse rasp. For a moment, he doesn’t think she heard him, but then she gasps and flinches like something has struck her. She catches herself on the wall as she sways. The girl at the front door watches the exchange with wide, nervous eyes, rooted to the spot.

 “Maria?” Oh god, there’s Papa’s voice, deep and warm. Close by, as if he’s right behind Mama. Tears rise unbidden to Lance’s eyes. He’s missed them both _so much_. “What’s wrong? Why did you drop the plate?”

His voice breaks the trance holding Mama still.

“ _LANCE_!” Mama screams. Hoisting up her blue maxi-dress, she leaps over the fallen sausages and broken ceramic, sprinting down the hallway to snatch Lance up in her arms. “Lance! Lance! Oh, my baby boy, my son, you’re _alive_! _You’re alive_!” She sobs into his shoulder, her arms like a vice around Lance’s waist, squeezing the breath out of him.

Lance releases Shiro’s hand to throw his arms around her, burying his face into the crook of her neck and shoulder, breathing in that warm yet spicy scent of the perfume she loves to wear so much, one that he’d almost forgotten over time.

“Where’ve you been?” she cries, pulling away from him to cup his face in her hands. Her thumbs stroked his tear-soaked cheeks. “Where’ve you been? It’s been eight years!”

 Papa appears over her shoulder, staring at Lance as if he were a ghost. One trembling hand reaches out, but stops just before he touches his son. “L-Lance?” He whispers the name like a prayer, like Lance is a gift from God he’s not sure if he’s allowed to accept.

“Papa,” says Lance. He grabs Papa’s hand, and it’s warm. “I’m home. I’m so sorry.”

He sees what his disappearance—his _supposed_ death—has done to the two of them; there are more lines on their faces, particularly on their foreheads and around their mouths and eyes, when Lance remembers them being smooth-faced and happy. Mama’s hair is more grey than brown now, and Papa’s own is starting to grow thinner.

He’s not sure if the grief in their eyes has been a constant over all these years, or if he’s just dredged up all the pain they’d learned how to bury. Not that he particularly wants an answer to that. Eight years is a long time, he knows that, but the change is startling.

“Oh, _Lance_.” Papa sweeps Lance up into his arms for a rib-crushing hug, clutching him like a drowning man to a life-preserver. “Sweet child, why did you leave?”

Mama crowds in behind Lance, boxing him in on both sides. The realisation that he’s finally got what he’s fought so long for hits Lance like an ion cannon; he’s sobbing harder than ever, dropping his head on Papa’s shoulder.

_Home, home, home._

“I didn’t want to,” whispers Lance hoarsely, choked. “Please forgive me.”

“Oh!” says Mama, pulling away from him to mop at her eyes. “I have to ring the others. They’ve missed you so much.”

Lance and Papa move to the side to let her pass. She sprints down the hallway and disappears into the living room. Behind Papa’s, the girl who answered the door still stands gaping. Lance wishes he could remember who she is, but he can’t.

“And who are you?” Papa asks. The question throws Lance for a moment, until he follows Papa’s gaze to Shiro. “Haven’t seen you around before.”

“Oh, right.” Lance steps out of Papa’s warm embrace, taking Shiro’s hand. “Papa, this is—this is my boyfriend, Shiro. We’ve been together nearly six years now.”

Papa’s eyes narrow. “You’re not the reason my son disappeared, are you?”

“I—no, sir,” says Shiro. He rolls his shoulders back, standing up straighter. Defensiveness has provoked his military training, and he’s every bit the soldier the years have moulded him to be. A surge of affection hits Lance like a tidal wave. “I am not the reason Lance disappeared. Whatever you’re thinking, sir, it is likely incorrect.”

Papa doesn’t look convinced. He puffs up, clenching his fists by his sides. He’s almost Shiro’s height, but he carries nowhere near the amount of bulk that Shiro does. If the action was meant to be intimidating, it doesn’t work. Shiro has faced far worse than a protective father.

“If you’ve hurt my son in any way over these past eight years,” he starts shakily, lips trembling. It’s then that Lance realises that Papa is not trying to be intimidating; he’s trying to cover up his grief. It appears that eight years was not enough time for Papa to fully recover.

“Papa, I promise I’ll explain everything,” Lance reassures him. “Shiro has never hurt me, I promise you that.”

“Then what’s that?” Papa nods to Lance, fingers tapping the left side of his own face.

The scar marring Lance’s left cheek suddenly stings, and he brings a hand up to touch it gingerly. The pain is entirely in his head, he _knows_ that, but he remembers clearly the terrifying day he received it, and suddenly the knowledge that he’s okay isn’t enough to stop the pain.

In the same moment he remembers the scar, the pain, there’s a deafening crash inside.

 _No_.

Black spots burst in his vision. His stomach rolls sickly, until he feels like he’s gonna vomit. Pain, pain, pain, fuck it hurts so badly.

_BANG!_

Lance flinches. Gunfire? Where did gunfire come from—

_BANG!_

_BANG!_

Lance screams as his visor is destroyed by a laser beam, and the world whites out for a moment. There’s horrific, excruciating agony everywhere, he’s nothing but pain.

He reaches for his face, cutting his fingers on the glass.

His face is on fire and he’s dying—

_FUCK FUCK IT HURTS MAKE IT STOP_

Please let him be dying _, this is too much_ —

_PLEASE LET ME DIE KILL ME I CAN’T_

He’s distantly aware of his own screaming—

_IT HURTS IT HURTS MAKE IT STOP PLEASE_

Someone _please kill him_ —

“Lance!” someone screams, near deafening him. “He’s down, he’s down—”

“Someone COVER HIM!”

“—hang on, buddy, you’ll be alright, I’ve got you—”

_BANG, BANG, BANG!_

“Lance,” says Shiro suddenly, pivoting until he’s standing in front of Lance, gripping his shoulders tight enough to bruise. At once, the memory is pushed back until the world around Lance bleeds back in at the edges, the past and present warring for dominance. “Lance, calm down. You’re okay, babe. I’m right here. There’s nothing to worry about; there’s nothing here that’ll hurt you. Breathe, alright? C’mon, breathe with me.”

Lance’s knees buckle, and Shiro only just manages to catch him before he hits the ground.

“What’s wrong with him?” Papa cries, horrified. “Lancey, what’s the matter?”

“Sir, please, stand back,” says Shiro firmly, lowering Lance to the ground. “He’s having a flashback.”

There’s a harsh, wheezing noise in the air. Lance is distantly aware of it over the pain in his chest, a tight, constricting feeling as if someone has wrapped their hands around his lungs and is now squeezing ever bit of air from them.

It takes a moment for Lance to figure out where it’s coming from; him.

He’s hyperventilating?

“ _Flashback_? Flashback to _what_?”

“Sir, please, I can explain in a minute. But you need to stand back.”

Shit, he can’t breathe. Lance can’t breathe—why can’t he breathe?

“Sh-Shiro,” Lance chokes out. “H-help—”

He reaches out for Shiro, who takes his trembling hands in his own and presses them against his chest.

“I’m right here, Lance,” says Shiro. “I’m right here, not going anywhere. But you need to breathe for me, alright? Can you do that?”

It’s like sucking air through a straw, painful and tight, not enough. Lance’s lungs burn, everything burns, and—and he can’t breathe—

“What’s going on?” Mama demands. “What’s wrong with Lance?”

She tries to push past Papa, but he catches her and holds her back. They’re both frightened—Mama’s clutching a cell phone to her chest whilst Papa clutches her. They’re both staring at him like he’s a freak of nature. Maybe—maybe he _is_. Lance’s chest constricts impossibly tighter. Oh god, oh god, he’s gonna black out, he’s gonna—

“Focus on me, Lance,” Shiro instructs patiently, tilting sideways until he catches Lance’s panicked eyes, has his full attention. “Focus only on me. Copy how I breathe. Can you do that?”

Lance nods frantically. Anything. He’ll do anything to breathe again.

He concentrates on mimicking Shiro’s steady breathing pattern. In…out…in…out. The knot in his chest grows considerably looser as the seconds pass until he’s breathing normally once more. Shame creeps in on him as he looks to his worried parents over Shiro’s shoulder. Not even back five minutes and he’s already caused them so much fear. He hasn’t even made it inside the house yet.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out.

With Shiro’s assistance, Lance stands shakily. The tears he didn’t know he’d shed until this moment dry uncomfortably on his cheeks, and he does his best to wipe them away with one hand, the other clutching desperately to Shiro’s cybernetic arm.

“May we come inside?” Shiro asks. “Lance needs to rest. Plus, I believe we’re starting to attract attention.”

Everyone turns in the direction Shiro’s looking; one of the neighbours across the road stands in his garden, watering the plants. Except he’s standing in the one spot, eyes fixated on them, and he’s positively drowning his potted plants without even realising it. So shameless is he that when he realises he’s been caught, he doesn’t have the decency to look away.

If anything, Lance’s shame burns hotter. Scared his parents, became a public spectacle with this episode. What’s next?

“I—yes,” says Mama, as if coming back to her senses. “Come inside, both of you. I believe we have room for two more at the breakfast table.”

She ushers them inside quickly.

As he steps in, Lance remembers at the last moment that there’s a mirror on the wall just inside, surrounded by framed pictures of his brothers and sisters when they were children. The scar is like a sunburst on his right cheek. It stretches from just under his eye, curling under his chin, and stretching out as far as his ear.

He remembers what Allura said to him when he stepped out of the healing pod: “You were lucky not to lose your eye, Lance. It was a very near thing.” Hunk had also helpfully added, “You were lucky not to lose your life, to be honest. You got _shot_ in the _head_.”

But he’d been put into the healing pod too late and got left with this scar. It had taken months for him to walk around without using bandages to cover it up. He figures all that work has now been laid to waste today.

The girl from the front door is now in the kitchen as they enter, talking quietly with a boy her age whom Lance assumes is her—wait. No, wait. Are these the _twins_? Stephie and Jack, his niece and nephew? No wonder he hadn’t recognised them! Last time he’d seen them, they’d been knee-height.

Wow, eight years really does change a lot.

If the panic attack didn't make him feel old and exhausted, this realisation certainly does the trick. He wants nothing more than to sink into a comfortable bed and sleep for days. He knows he can't, though; Mama and Papa will not let him escape without a damn good explanation of his whereabouts. So he gathers up the last of his energy, forcing himself to forget how tired he is right now.

Stephie and Jack stop talking when he and Shiro walk in. They’re wary, having witnessed the ruckus outside. Lance wonders if either of them remembers him, or if they’ve forgotten and are now terrified of the stranger Mama and Papa have let into the house.

God, he’s exhausted.

“The rest of the family will be here tonight,” Mama informs him with false cheeriness. She draws out a chair and ushers him into it, beckoning for Shiro to take the chair beside him. Shiro shrugs the bag off his shoulders and sets it down beside the chair he chooses. “They’re very excited to see you.”

Mama goes to the sink and comes back with two glasses of water. Whilst Shiro drinks his in three gulps like the world’s supply is about to be severely depleted, Lance holds his in his trembling hands, relishing the feel of the cool glass on his fingertips. It helps ground him, in a way.

“You two,” says Papa to the twins, “please clean up the mess in the hallway.”

Stephie and Jack share a glance, then dash out of the room like they can’t leave fast enough. Going up to the stove, Mama busies herself with cooking. She refuses to turn around. Lance suspects, sadly, that she’s crying again.

 “Now.” Papa pulls out a chair directly opposite Lance and Shiro, and sits down. “Tell us where you’ve been all this time.”

“Do we have to do this now?” asks Lance tiredly. “Shouldn’t we wait until the others get here tonight so I don’t have to explain it again?”

“No, Lance,” says Papa firmly, shaking his head once. “The Garrison told us you were dead eight years ago. We’ve grieved over the loss every day since.”

Lance frowns. “What did the Garrison say?”

“It was hard to get any answer out of them.” Papa sighs heavily, rubbing the knuckles of his thumbs across his eyes. “There was an emergency and you and your friends were caught in the middle of it, where you weren’t supposed to be. Complete accident, but the details were deemed classified.”

“Classified,” Mama spits. “My son, my _youngest baby_ , dies in an accident and they can’t even say why. Or how. They gave us a cheque—hush money, all it was!—and then they clam up and refuse to give any more details no matter how much we begged.”

She slams a bunch of sausages onto two plates, then reaches for some eggs still in the carton.

Having spent a long time wondering what the Garrison would have told his parents, this is no less than Lance expected, but it still hurts. His family deserved more than a paltry excuse and hush money for his loss. Shiro grasps his hand under the table. He squeezes it gratefully.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

When he thinks back to the moment he found Blue, Lance knows he hadn’t considered his family at all when he made the decision to climb inside and let Blue take him to the Castleship. By the time he realised what exactly he’d gotten himself into, he couldn’t just up and leave. The universe needed people to defend it, and he’d been chosen as one of its defenders. How does anyone walk away from a responsibility like that with a clean conscience?

But there’d been more than a few nights where he’d laid in bed, staring up at the ceiling, and wished he hadn’t found Blue at all. Wished he hadn’t broken the rules and gone out that night. Sure, he never would’ve fallen in love with Shiro, never would’ve had all his adventures and saved so many people and planets, but his family would never have had to grieve his loss.

This whole situation is a fucking mess.

“This may be difficult to explain,” says Shiro. “But it’ll be even more difficult for the both of you to accept. If we hadn’t gone through it, I wouldn’t believe it either.”

“Just,” Papa closes his eyes as if praying for patience, a hand clenching into a fist and shaking above the table as if he wants to hit it, “tell us.”

"Okay," says Lance. "But you have to promise to listen all the way through, without interrupting, no matter how crazy it sounds."

Mama and Papa glance at each other. Both of them nod decisively.

"We promise," they say. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the kind feedback on the first chapter! I apologise for the wait on the second chapter.

Confronted with his expectant parents on top of the migraine forming behind his eyes, Lance realises that this is not a story he can tell them and expect them to believe. How is he supposed to describe the horror of the war he waged up in space? The things he has seen and done? It’s too outlandish. With space travel still a new concept for humanity, and missions to moons and planets in just their solar system alone taking months, the thought of aliens, an intergalactic war, and sentient mechanical space lions is too much to ask anyone to believe.

“Shiro,” says Lance, turning away from his parents’ expectant gazes. He latches onto Shiro’s arm like a lifeline. Shiro’s white forelock tickles at Lance’s forehead when he leans in. They speak in low voices. “Did you remember to pack the microchips Pidge gave us?”

“Of course,” Shiro replies. “But don’t you want to tell them first?”

“You really think they’ll believe me if I just _tell them_?” Lance is incredibly tired from his panic attack earlier, and he knows that the past eight years will take up more time than he’s willing to spare. If convincing his parents takes any longer, he’ll crash right there on the table. “Are you insane? It’ll take hours to get through all of it.”

“We can’t just show them everything that’s on the chips without warning them first—”

“Stop whispering to each other,” Mama snaps, her patience gone. “It is _rude_.”

Lance and Shiro pull away from each other, contrite.

Shiro snatches the bag off the floor, rummaging through it until he pulls out two microchips. He sets them carefully on the table between him and Lance. The edges of their chips are colour-coordinated to the suits of armour they left in in the Castleship. Lance slides the blue chip off the table and holds it up.

“There’s about three hours’ worth of information on this chip alone,” he says to Mama and Papa. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Stephie and Jack sidle into the room. Stephie dumps the contents of the dustpan she’s holding into the bin next to the fridge. “I’d tell you everything I’ve been through, but you wouldn’t believe me.”

Mama shoots Shiro another suspicious glare.

“He’s _not_ the reason why I disappeared,” Lance snaps, impatient. When Shiro’s hand lightly touches his, he seizes it like a lifeline. “Please stop looking at him like that.”

“You look familiar,” says Mama to Shiro, ignoring Lance entirely. “What did you say your name was again?”

“Takashi Shirogane,” says Shiro calmly. “But everyone calls me Shiro.”

At once, Mama abandons her chair and marches from the room. Jack, who’d been standing in the doorway with his hands tucked behind his back, hurries to get out of her way before she bowls him over.

“Where are you going?” Lance calls after her. He tries to follow her, but his legs feel like jelly. He looks at Papa in askance, receiving a shrug from his equally nonplussed Papa. “Mama!”

As quickly as she left, Mama’s back in with a folder in her arms. She sets it on the table, a wrinkle forming between her brows, flipping through the plastic sleeves.

“Oh, honey,” says Papa, “not this thing again.”

Mama ignores him.

“What is it?” Lance asks.

“Ever since you disappeared, she started collecting all this information,” says Papa. “Everything that the papers printed, all the transcripts of interviews the Garrison had with all these news places. Anything she could get her hands on, she printed and kept.”

“And it’s a good thing I did,” says Mama. She swivels the folder around and taps on the left plastic sleeve. Lance leans over, then blinks in surprise. An old military mugshot of Shiro’s stares up at him. So young and painless, this Shiro is almost beaming at the camera, proud of his accomplishments and blissfully unaware of the agony and terror his unprecedented skills will bring. “You’re supposed to be roughly nine years dead, yet here you are.”

Shiro doesn’t respond; he’s staring down at his old photo still. Although his expression is a blank mask, his eyes give him away. He’s stunned by the youthfulness he hasn’t seen or felt in years, and also inexplicably depressed at its loss. His hand is like a vice around Lance’s, squeezing tight enough that Lance’s knuckles rub together painfully, yet he’s reluctant to say anything about it.

“Want to explain to me how that works?” says Mama archly. “You disappeared roughly nine years ago. The Garrison told everyone it was a pilot error, all three killed. One year later, my son and two of his classmates disappears as well. Now you’re somehow alive, back on Earth, with my deceased son in tow. I want answers and I want them _now_.”

Shiro meets her gaze head-on, stoic. “All the information you need is on those chips.”

He doesn’t react when Mama slams her hand on the table in frustration. Lance, however, flinches back on instinct, his spare hand twitching toward his hip where his bayard would’ve been on his suit before it registers that there’s no attack forthcoming.

“I don’t want to get this news from the damned chips!” she cries. She turns to Lance. “I want to hear, from your mouth, why you left us. Was it something that we’ve done? Did we hurt you somehow?”

“What? No!” says Lance, aghast. “I didn’t leave because I wanted to, I—I—”

“Then you were kidnapped?” Mama rolls her shoulders back and stands up straight, shooting Shiro an extremely distrustful look.

Shiro shakes his head slowly. “Ma’am, I know what you’re thinking, but I would never—”

“ _I was in space_!” shouts Lance, stunning everyone into silence. “Shiro and I were in space with Hunk and Pidge fighting a war against an evil species called ‘Galra’ who were taking over the entire galaxy. We had to form a robot called Voltron, which is essentially five mechanical lions smashed together to form one humanoid beast. It was the only thing capable of taking the Galra Empire’s leader, Zarkon, down. And don’t look at me like I’m crazy, either,” he adds, as Mama and Papa gape at him in horrified confusion, as if wondering whether their son has fallen off the deep end during his absence. “I know how this sounds. That’s why we brought the damn chips, so we could _show you_ that we’re not crazy.”

Hiding her face behind her trembling hands, Mama releases a tiny sob that hurts Lance worse than any gunshot to the face ever could. “I e-expected a better explanation than _this_.”

“It’s almost insulting,” Papa whispers hoarsely.

“But it’s the truth. You knew that one day I was gonna go up into space anyway. That’s why I was a student at the Garrison. I just didn’t go up into space the way that either of us thought I would.” Lance smiles sadly. “I was right all along when I used to say there was life on different planets, Mama. And I found them.”

The memories laced into his words almost brings him to tears. Biting his lip, Lance avoids everyone’s eyes and sits back, taking a moment to compose himself. He still remembers the idealistic, innocent child he’d been. It’s hard to reconcile the loss.

“Mr. and Mrs. McClain,” Shiro cuts in. “Please let us play the chips for you. This sounds crazy, I know it does. The only way you’ll believe us is if you see it.” Lance sees his parents’ resolves crumbling, and from the way Shiro stresses his next few words, it’s clear that he sees it too. “Lance would never make something like this up. You know he’s better than that.”

“I—,” Mama begins, but then her shoulders drop on a heavy exhale. She lets her eyes slip closed for a few seconds. “Oh, fine. Show us what’s on these chips of yours, then.”

Lance glances at Shiro, nodding for him to set it up. Relief has snatched the last of his energy reserves. It’s as if his body has been filled with lead, he feels so heavy.

Shiro’s fiddling with the chips, tongue poking out from between his teeth as he concentrates on setting them up. The buttons on the chip are tiny and hard to press, though Pidge, with her tiny fingers, had had no difficulty with them. She and Hunk still had plans to either upgrade the chips to a device set in the helmet instead of the chest-plate, but there’s now no rush considering the war is, essentially, over.

Once Shiro gets it right, a hologram will shoot a good foot in the air and play whatever Pidge chose to put on there. As Shiro’s fingers slip and sends the chip flying across the table—to which he responds with an unamused click of his tongue before he snatches it back up—it’s clear that he has more patience to deal with the finicky device than Lance does.

 “Mama, Papa,” says Lance. “Do you mind if I go lie down for a while? I’m just…” He waves a hand through the air in a careless circle and then gestures to himself. What that’s supposed to mean, even he doesn’t know. Somehow Mama seems to understand.

“Oh, sure,” she says, perking up at once. She stands. “Your bedroom should be just as you left it. The sheets may need changing.”

Lance stands, pretends that his legs don’t buckle so badly he needs to grip the edge of the table just to keep himself upright. “Wait, really? Mama, it’s been _nine years_.”

“Yes, well,” says Mama uncomfortably, “we didn’t have the heart to change or get rid of anything once you disappeared. It…didn’t feel right.”

Lance doesn’t know how to reply to that, so he doesn’t. Instead, he leans over Shiro’s shoulder and asks him quietly, “You gonna be okay down here by yourself for a bit?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” says Shiro, pecking a kiss on Lance’s cheek. “I’ll set this up and come join you in a minute.”

“Love you,” Lance whispers into Shiro’s ear, stays long enough to hear the words repeated back to him on an exhale, and follows Mama out of the room. “Are you mad at me?” he asks her, halfway to his bedroom.

The line of Mama’s shoulders is stiff, which reminds him of the many soldiers in the rebel forces who’d forced themselves to remain unbendable as the weight of the universe pressed down upon them. It’s silent for the longest time, until Lance gives up on expecting an answer from her.

“I don’t know what to think,” she admits finally, solemn. “I suppose after I see what you’ve brought, I’ll make up my mind.”

“I never would’ve disappeared without good reason.” That’s a fact that Lance is desperate to drill home. The life he’d been thrust into wasn’t one he’d chosen for himself, but he had a duty to accept, and accept it he did, no matter how much he wanted to go home. “I missed you all every day.”

“As we have missed you,” says Mama, her voice thick with unshed tears. “Our family hasn’t been the same without your bright laughter. The sun seemed to disappear the moment you did, and there was never any hope of getting it back.”

They reach Lance’s bedroom. Lance has to laugh under his breath at the bright blue letters stuck to the door in an arch. “LANCE’S ROOM” it declares. He’d found packages of alphabet stickers at the dollar shop in town and bought three of them, giving two to his sisters who’d quickly followed his idea and stuck the letters of their names to the door.

He wonders if they still have those up, but since their bedrooms are on the second floor (“Elder sibling privileges, Lance!” Ellia had laughed, when Lance had complained about the unfairness of it to their parents. “Get used to it!”) he has no way of knowing just yet.

Wait. Maybe they don’t even live here anymore. It’s been a long time.

Inside, it’s a literal blast from the past. Lance reels back, catching onto the frame of the door. It literally is exactly the same. His walls are a periwinkle blue beneath the many NASA and Galaxy Garrison posters.

A huge corkboard over his double-bed displays are full of old photographs of his family and friends, as well as yellowing papers proudly displaying his high school achievements in science and swimming. A few swimming medals hang from that corkboard, proudly proclaiming that he’d won either first or second place. He’d been so good at it he rarely came third. Had he not loved science and piloting so much, he could’ve gone pro.

There are two science fair trophies on his otherwise bare desk next to his wardrobe. He used to keep his notebooks there, he remembers vaguely. Where have they gone?

Lance approaches the tall, vertical window across the room, sweeping aside purple curtains, he surveys the huge backyard. It used to be full of toys and bikes, but now it’s bare. The grass that’s so lush and perfect in his memory is now turning a listless, dead yellow. The laundry line that could barely turn in a strong wind under the weight of so many drying clothes now has enough clothing to fill only one line out of sixteen.

Beyond the backyard, the neighbours’ houses are still the same. Beyond that is the ocean he used to have to stand on the tips of his toes and crane his neck to see, but can now see without any effort at all.

Too fucking much has changed.

“I allow Jack to sleep in here occasionally,” says Mama, breaking the silence. “He likes all that space stuff, same as you. Always said he wanted to be a pilot, just like you.”

Lance’s lips twist bitterly. “Space isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be,” he murmurs, thinking of the now-destroyed Galra Empire. Of how the universe is only just starting to pick up the pieces from a horror that Earth so narrowly escaped. Shaking his head to dispel the negative thoughts, he says brightly, “That’s good! We’ll have something in common, at least.”

“Perhaps so.”

They lapse into silence. Lance’s heart begins to hurt. Once upon a time, he and Mama could prattle on about nothing. Now, as they stare at each other, they’re at a loss for what to say. They’re strangers wearing familiar faces.

“I’ll leave you to get changed,” says Mama finally.

“Yeah,” says Lance on a sigh. “Shiro should have the chip working by now. Y-you shouldn’t miss anything; it’s all pretty important.”

Nodding, a tight-lipped smile making her wrinkles even more pronounced, Mama backs out of the room. She doesn’t shut the door behind her.

The tension leaves with her. Lance falls back on the bed like a marionette with cut strings, exhaling long and loud. This is not the reunion he imagined up in space, the one that carried him through countless battles, seeing him through so many injuries.

“You okay?”

Lance tilts his head just so, cracking his eyes open in time to see Shiro walk through the door, brows furrowed in concern as he nudges the door shut with his heel.

“As ‘okay’ as I can be, given the circumstances,” says Lance.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Shiro rests his hand on Lance’s stomach. “Shit. That was a silly question, wasn’t it?”

“Not really. Did my dad say anything to you?”

“He just kept staring at me,” says Shiro, shrugging. “Don’t think he can speak. Shock and all that, y’know?”

“Hmm.”

“Anyway, to lighten the mood, you wanna explain to me what’s pasted to your door right now?”

“What are you—?” Lance sits up, only for his stomach to drop in horror. “Oh, _no_.”

It’s an old Galaxy Garrison poster of Shiro that Lance distinctly recalls hunting around the news agency magazines for when he was thirteen.

He hides his face in his hands to the chorus of Shiro’s laughter.

 

* * *

 

Maria doesn’t know what to think.

When she had demanded the truth from Lance, she hadn’t been expecting this.

She and Riel have just finished watching Takashi Shirogane’s chip—“He wanted to ‘ease us’ into it,” Riel had explained—and, with trembling fingers, Riel begins setting up Lance’s chip.

Never before has she seen such violence and chaos.

From a first-person perspective, she’d spied Lance with a gun, shooting robot and alien alike without hesitation, dodging enemy fire. Whilst Maria understands that those deaths were warranted—so many times it was to defend his teammates or alien prisoners—but she’s struggling to process that the hardened man in these memories is her son.

“Got it,” says Riel finally, as the chip lights up.

 _God have mercy on us,_ Maria thinks, _for what we’re about to see._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am considering writing an entirely separate story about what Maria and Riel see in Lance and Shiro's individual chips. I don't want to bog down this story with it, though, so I'm only going to show the aftermath next chapter. Prepare your tissues.
> 
> EDIT: I just realised I forgot to mention the twins. Please assume that after Maria led Lance to his room, they disappeared upstairs to give everyone privacy. They'll be brought back in the third chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the delay! 
> 
> Also, I may end up upping the chapter count. There's a lot I want to touch on with this story. By the end of the next chapter, I'll make a decision whether to go from 5 chapters to 10.

A sharp crack against Lance’s cheek wakes him up an indeterminable time later.

He blinks up at the dark ceiling for a moment, wondering what just happened, until a fist swings up from the corner of his vision and hits him on the chin again. Lance recoils, pressing a hand to his stinging cheek as he pushes himself upright.

“No…no…!” Shiro’s panting whine breaks the silence. The blankets are ripped off Lance as Shiro’s sweaty body twists in such a way that they wrap around him like a cocoon. In the throes of a nightmare, he writhes and jerks as if being electrocuted. “Please, don’t—no, you can’t— _please_!”

Sliding out of the bed, Lance retreats to the middle of the room, far enough away from Shiro that he’s not within an easy striking distance. Then he calls out “Shiro!” as loud as he dares.

“Stop! Stop! Don’t hurt them—no!”

“Shiro, you need to wake up,” says Lance. “Whatever you’re seeing isn’t real anymore; it’s a nightmare. You’re just dreaming. You need to wake up.”

“Take me, just take me—”

Lance darts back to the bed to get a pillow, then back to his original spot. He hates it when he must resort to chucking things at Shiro, but sometimes calling out to him just doesn’t work. Tonight is one of those nights where a nightmare has sunk its claws deep into Shiro and will not let go so easily.

“Wake up, Shiro!” He throws the pillow and it smacks Shiro right in the face. “Shiro!”

Shiro cries out, bolting upright, cybernetic hand raised and glowing a faint, ominous purple. He pants heavily, wide, terrified eyes darting around the room. Hair clings to his sweaty forehead.

“Shiro,” says Lance. Shiro’s head whips around so fast it’s a miracle he doesn’t injure his neck in the process. “Shiro, you’re safe, okay? It was just a nightmare. You’re in my bedroom on Earth. The Galra have been defeated and they can’t hurt you anymore.”

As much as he wants to cradle Shiro in his arms, Lance doesn’t dare get any closer to the bed whilst Shiro still looks so spooked. The first and last time he’d tried had been two months into their relationship. He’d almost lost two teeth to Shiro’s cybernetic hand, as Shiro had, in his terror, misinterpreted Lance’s intentions as an attack on his person and punched him. It took an additional two months for Shiro overcome his guilt and sleep in the same room with Lance again.

“Can you repeat that back to me?” Lance asks. “Tell me where you are, Shiro.”

After two more harsh breaths, Shiro swipes the hair out of his face and says, “Your bedroom. We’re on Earth. We’re safe.”

Lance smiles. “That’s right.”

Shiro swipes a hand down his face with a noisy exhale. If anything, he looks more exhausted than he did before. Lance feels a twinge of sympathy; he’s had his own fair share of nightmares over the years. He knows what it feels like to wake up from them, having to reorient yourself again.

Licking his lips, Shiro asks, “Can you get me a drink of water? My throat is so dry…”

“Of course.” Pressing a kiss to Shiro’s clammy forehead, Lance stands and stretches, grunting as a few of the joints in his back pops, and heads out toward the kitchen.

The television is playing upstairs. It must be a kind of shooter video game, as he hears several gunshots in rapid succession. Definitely one or both of the twins, since it can’t be any later than nine o’clock. The rest of the house, however, is enshrouded in darkness and entirely silent.

Fingers twitching toward his hip where his bayard would’ve normally been hidden, he creeps forward, willing his instincts to quieten. Too many years fighting the Galra have left him with a natural suspicion.

He turns the living room light on.

“Mierda!” he gasps, leaping back.

Mama and Papa are sitting on the sofa, entirely silent, with a foot of space between them They blink up at him with hollow, red-rimmed eyes, and for a moment Lance wonders if they’ve noticed him at all.

They must’ve finished watching the chips, Lance thinks.

“We called your brothers and sisters,” says Mama finally. “They’ll be on their way down here tomorrow morning.”

“They’re excited to see you,” says Papa. “Hardly believed us when we told them you’d come back to us.”

Lance inches toward them, holding out a hand though he’s too hesitant to touch them when they’re in such a vulnerable state. “Are you both alright?”

“I would’ve preferred to believe that you had run away from us because you had found love,” says Mama, and a sob burst through her lips. She shakes her head, pinching the bridge of her nose. “But the whole time you were in a war, fighting for your life. You could have died, and we’d never have known! My baby boy, my baby boy, in a war.”

“M-Mama, I’m sorry—”

“Don’t apologise!” she cries. When she launches herself to her feet, Lance backs up a step. For one wild moment, he expects her to attack him—but then her arms wrap around him, crushing him against her body in a hug that knocks the air out of his body. “Don’t you _ever_ apologise. We may not understand what you’ve been through, nor like it, but you _saved the universe_. How could we ever ask you to be sorry for that?”

“I’m sorry that I hurt you guys,” Lance squeaks out. Damn it, he’d thought he’d cried enough already. Yet now he’s crying into Mama’s shoulder again, squeezing her tight. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t tell you that I was alive, or that I was fighting. Everyone wanted to call home, but we knew if we did, we’d paint a giant target on Earth. W-we couldn’t do that.”

“And we understand that now.” Papa stands, circling Lance to hug him from behind, so that he’s squashed between both of his parents. There’s no place Lance would rather be. “We understand. And if you’re looking for forgiveness, then we forgive you.”

Now Lance is _really_ crying.

“Lance?”

Lance turns. Still bleary-eyed and sleep-mussed, Shiro ambles into the living room, rubbing an eye with his fist. Part of his shirt hangs up around his stomach, revealing at least an inch of bare skin. He looks so adorable that Lance has to fight off the urge to leap into his arms and kiss him senseless. Instead, he’s content to revel in the surge of love and affection for Shiro, a man Lance still can’t believe he can call his.

And then he realises why Shiro’s out here in the first place. “Oh! The water. Go back to bed, Shiro, I’ll bring it in with me in a minute.”

Shiro shakes his head and shuffles toward the kitchen. “Nah, I can get it.”

“He’s certainly gotten comfortable,” says Mama, eyeing Shiro critically. She doesn’t sound upset, though, just bemused.

Lance chuckles. “Yeah, he gets this way when he’s tired.”

“Speaking of tired,” says Papa. “I’m going to bed. It’s been a…it’s been a long day.”

“You can say that again,” says Mama fervently. She kisses Lance on the forehead. “I’m going to bed too. Don’t stay up too late, you hear? The rest of the family will be here tomorrow.”

“I won’t. I promise.” Well, he’ll try not to, anyway. Whether or not he and Shiro will be able to fall asleep again tonight is pretty up in the air. “Have a good night’s sleep.”

“We will,” Mama promises. “Goodnight, Shiro.”

“Goodnight!” Shiro calls back from the kitchen, over the sound of the tap turning on for the third time.

Lance waits until his parents’ bedroom door has closed behind them before he goes into the kitchen. Shiro stands at the sink with his back to Lance. Making sure his footsteps can easily be heard, Lance crosses the room and wraps his arms around Shiro’s waist, pressing his forehead into his back.

“This is going way better than I expected,” he says.

Shiro hums, placing one of his hands over Lance’s. “Now all we have to do is get through the rest of the family tomorrow.”

“Ugh. Don’t remind me. Veronica just might tear me a new one.”

“I’m sure they’ll understand why you did what you did. If your parents can be so understanding, surely they’ll be the same.”

“Maybe. I have a feeling I can make all the excuses in the world but that won’t change the fact that I hurt them all. They all _mourned_ my _death_.”

In lieu of answering, Shiro drinks the rest of the water from his cup, places the cup in the sink, and turns around in Lance’s arms. He hugs Lance tight, kissing his temple.

“No matter what, I’ll be right here with you,” he says.

Lance pecks him on the lips. “Mm. I know. Don’t think Veronica won’t try to rip _your_ ears off too. No one is safe from her scary penchant for pinching.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Shiro kisses him again, but this time Lance doesn’t let him go that quickly. They remain like that for a few minutes, locked in an embrace. The chirping of crickets outside, the panting of Lance and Shiro’s breath, the moonlight streaming in through the window to illuminate only a sliver of the kitchen…It’s all perfect.

Reluctantly, Lance pulls away from the kiss. “We should get some sleep.”

“Don’t know if I can sleep,” Shiro mumbles. “You know, after that nightmare, and all.”

“Hmm,” says Lance. “But like you said earlier; I’m right there with you.” He pulls away from Shiro, only to take his hand, leading him back to the bedroom. “Come on, even if we don’t get any sleep tonight, we can just lie in bed in the dark and talk about random crap. Sound good?”

“That actually does sound nice…”

Lance smirks. “Thought so.”

They were right about not getting any more sleep that night; when morning comes, they’ve been up for hours, though they long since stopped talking, happy to just be in each other’s company and listen to all the sounds of night filtering in through the partially opened window.

Today's the day Lance confronts the rest of his family. He hopes it will all go well. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment if you enjoyed the chapter!


End file.
